St. Johnsbury Caledonian. [volume] (St. Johnsbury, Vt.) 1867-1919, 1887-05-05

ming down, coming from somewhere
going to somewhere, life and motion.
always look out the first thing in tin
morning to see if it is still there, and
listen for it at night. And it make
two skies by night one above ant
one below-witii stars down in the un
der world and then by day the color
the changing light and color, and TIL
pushing of the tide, taking you RICH
} into the mysteries. Oh, it's stagnatioI
without the river I'd as lief be dead.
81 think just as much of the pine
woods" he said, "with the everlasting
murmur of the boughs. And when
wind begins to blow, long before WI
feel it down below, the tree-tops know
it, and are whispering about it one t.
another, like old witches brewing |
STORM"
"And there's nothing but a patch o
a garden there in your fathers ole
place." | went on without needing
and here are these long rich grass
lands. And how in the world are we
to manage a farmitwO miles away from
it, should like to know"
81 know" said Mark, easily. "Just
as you do two rods away"
'Tt's impossible" said /. "YOu DOM
understand anything about the over
sight and care that a great farm needs
if you think that"
"Well, we could sell the farm, you
know"
"Sell the farm!' ~ | cried starting up
"My fathers, my grandfather's, my
great grandfather"
"YOur NOah's, your Adams"
"HOw do you dare talk so to me
Mark Myers, about my home !" l cried
more vexed and more.
81 shouldn't think you had called
my home prison and a dungeon" he
retOrted.
"Well, it is the gloOmiest, the"
''NOw hush, my darling; hush, you
little vixen," said Mark, laughing, with
his hand on my lips, ''Or you'll say
something you'll be sorry for"
"YOu've said something you'll be
sorry for" / cried-"c calling me vix-
Ell. | may be vixen, but if you were
a gentleman But the Myerses al
ways were tyrants, and Pm glad Ive
found you out in time-sO calm, and
so cool and so fixed in your own way
And I'll never, never go and live i'll
your old prison house," | cried, grow
ing angrier and angrier, heaven only
knows why. "And you may just whis-
tie for your dog, and go there yourself,
and go alone. | never want to see
your face again." And before he could
grasp me and prevent me, had flash
ed into the house, and had shut and
bOlted the door.
He waited then he waited, l should
think an hour And | sat inside, burn
|
sciOus sense of shame, very likely, and
u bitter disappointment, and wild,
unnamed fear. And at last he rose
slowly and looked at the windows, and
turned away and called old Roland,
and went slowly down the lane. And
he never came back. | could see him
walking along, ever so slowly, in the
clear moonlight, with the dogs nose in
his hand, till the road turned into the
wood that mounted the hill. And
when he had gone l just threw myself
on the floor, and all but dissolved in
my mad tears. And | didn't know
what the tears were fOr-whether for
fear of losing Mark, or for fear of los
ing my home, or for fear of giving up
my will but it seemed to me that the
end of the world had as good as come.
We were both orphans, we both had
these great properties, and we had
both better have been beggars.
That was June, and the full moon.
didn't sleep any that night hardly
know why; a presentiment of evil
kept me waking, although [ was so
tired. | remember that moon now,
hanging in the purple sky, with her
wide wings, like a great bOdIng ghost.
Every time | looked out there she was.
By and-by she began to brighten me,
and shut her out, but lay awake all
the same, my mind in IL wild whirl.
The next evening, in the long after
glow of the sunset, | tripped down the
land to the wood, sure that | shOnld
meet him, as | had always done, on
his way to me but the shape | had
been used to see bounding down the
path did not see again. | went close
to the shadow of the wood, but only
old Roland came and put his nose i'll
my hand, and waited with me while L
waited, and went back with me lit
tie way when | went back. 1t did not
occur to me to think that where RO-
land was, his master was not far dis
tant. And | went down the lane no
more.
After that, then, one day crept by,
and another, and life continued in the
old way, and all the business of the
great farm thrived in the hands of
Bryan, the directing Overseer, and all
seemed to me mere idleness. The
moving machines were humming all
day in the meadows, and the huge
loads of fragrant hay came labOring
into the barns, and thunder-clOuds
made panics, and the lightning fell, as
it always did on the wet low grounds,
and burned one or two hay-stacks
and then the gundelOws went down
the river for the salt hey, and came
back days afterward, with thS T. dark,
square sails set atop their square loads
of thatch and one by one all the con-
Germs of ripening and harvesting had
their season, and passed and August
was over. And Mark had never once
been up the lane again and Septem
Der had gone, and the harvest moon
and the hunters moon had poured it's
silver floods of light out of great
lonely heaven and still Mark had
never come.
suppose Mrs. Wells, my next neigh
Dor, knew all about it. And Mrs. Saw
yer, on the other side, of course knew |
all that Mrs. Wells did. They were
very good to me, and they and the
girls were always running into see me,
or sending for me to run in and see
them. | don't think | was trying to
carry things off with high head, and |
know l wasn't hanging my head and
crying over what was not to be helped;
L simply made up my mind to the in
evitable. l was never going to have
Mark beside me any more, and must
endure it, and get through life as well